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"Was I too much with your parents again?" He asks you. It's only moments after he passed you a milkshake and eased his foot off the break. The Bronco creeps forward out of the drive-thru, and Bradley checks both ways before turning back on the road home. You sip your milkshake and consider his words carefully.
It was one of those things. It didn't bother you…not really, but then again, maybe it did. You had always felt that you weren't really meant to be your parents' kid. And you loved your parents, of course you did, but it never really fit not the way it was supposed to. And your parents were bursting at the seams for parental love. You just weren't really the right shape for it. On the other hand, Bradley Bradshaw was the perfect shape; your parents adored him, and he loved them right back. The only reason Sunday brunch had started as a tradition was because of Bradley willing it into existence. You think your parents were more into Bradley than flies were with honey. They just clicked and latched on to Bradley's natural charisma and bright personality.
It was a beautiful thing for you to think about sometimes. How, at least, you could bring them together. It wasn't your purpose to be your parents' perfect kid. It was your destiny to unite this lonely man with a family, though. It's hard to describe. It's not like you saw Bradley in any shape or form, your brother. However, you knew that if they felt they could get away with it, your parents would choose Bradley over you if you ever broke up.
"No." It's not until you say it that you realize it's true. "No, you've made me love my parents again."
"What is it then?" He asks.
"It's hard sometimes to see you with them. See how they are with you," You laugh and put your milkshake down in the free drink holder next to Bradley's own. "I mean, my dad watched four documentaries on the Navy and listens to a podcast about the history of TOP GUN while he drives to work. Then, my mom, she tells you to eat more! She fucking glows when you agree to play that cheesy keyboard they bought me in high school. The one that I never learned to play." You're quiet for a moment then, spinning your ring around your finger, fiddling with it. You hope the action will put you at ease, but it's primarily unsuccessful. You want to try to explain yourself more, and the hurt aching in your chest. However, the words don't come, forcing you to sit there with it.
"I'm sorry," Bradley eventually says.
"I don't want you to be sorry. I think you are the most amazing man on the planet," You immediately tell him, not wanting Bradley to get how you were feeling all twisted in his own head.
"I'm not sorry for my actions. I'm sorry for you, baby. I'm sorry for the hurt you feel," He amends in a soft, gentle tone.
"Don't be sorry for me, Bradley. I have a happier family than I ever dreamed about in my adult life." Despite your brave words, a few tears burst from your eyes. You quickly wipe them away, drying your hands on your side. It feels like when you forget to grab a napkin for the movie theater popcorn, not really gone, mostly just smudged.
"The way they are with you made me realize I was wrong. I think that's my big issue. I always thought they just weren't built to be parents. They weren't meant to love someone else like that. So, it wasn't that they couldn't change or they didn't have the capacity to love me. It's that I wasn't ever good enough for them."
Bradley's heart fucking broke hearing your confession. It broke into a hundred more pieces than he thought it could. He loved your parents and couldn't conceptualize any parents making you feel the way you did. His own parents had loved him wholeheartedly and openly right up until the moment they took their last breaths. They were never shy about it either, ensuring he knew they adored him. He never questioned that he was loved. Having made it one of his life missions to love you, he never wanted to see you feel anything less than that. Yet, you could tell the idea of it all made him uncomfortable.
"So, I'm not mad at you. I'm not even mad at them because they are so happy. I love seeing them so happy, and I love seeing you so happy. All of that makes me happy. I'm not actually mad at myself, but maybe I'm mad at the little girl inside me. Or maybe she's mad at me. But either way, one of us, or both of us. Me. I wasn't enough for them to love me like that, and I never will be." Abandoning your ring, you clench your hands over your knees hard. The winded explanation made your emotions regarding the situation bubble hotly in you as more tears threatened to spill. You stop looking out the window and decide that Bradley's broad form is much better at capturing your attention.
"First," Bradley starts, slowly drawing out the word, "I want to say I think you are enough, and I love you so much. Next, will you hold my hand?" Bradley's primary love language was physical touch. He was always touch starved. Any time he was with you, he needed to touch you somehow, even if it was just the edge of your foot pressed into his calf. Sometimes he twisted his pinky with yours or would stroke an ankle on the couch when your feet were in his lap. You knew he needed to touch you to feel reassured. You took his hand then, slotting your fingers together. You could see him visibly relax and shift at your touch like it helped pull him back from an edge.
"Thank you," you whisper in a watery voice.
"How can I support you right now, my love? Would you like me to listen, or do you want a solution? Or I can call your parents and tell them off." Bradley's deep timber tells you just how serious and involved he is in this conversation despite driving. Fuck, you loved how good Bradley was at communicating. You were worried about being with him at first. Military men don't really have the best reputations, but he was so mature and so good to you. You were unreasonably in love with him, it was consuming, but that wasn't something you were upset about.
"Can you listen a little more?" You ask.
"Of course, baby. Why do you think these ears are so big? It's to hear you better."
"Bradley," you whine with a half laugh. Bradley's mouth spreads into a wide grin, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. Only when his thumb starts tracing soothing circles into your skin do you find the energy to speak again. "When I was growing up, they weren't how they are now. And every time we see them, part of me is always prepared for how they used to be. For them to be cold and mean, or indifferent, or criticizing, or any of the other things that made me feel so much less than. I wish I could just accept that they had changed, but I don't think I'll ever really believe that, no matter how much time has passed. And then it's so frustrating that I'm caught up on this. I'm an adult! So, why do they have this grip on me? I just want to be free. I want to be done with this hurt."
"There is nothing wrong with you feeling this way. That little girl in you that they hurt, that they still hurt. She is allowed to have her feelings hurt, but I don't think that you should ignore her and how she feels like they did."
"I don't know how to do that, Bradley. I can't just be having a breakdown all the time."
"Well, we can start by making sure you feel safe." He pulls the Bronco into the driveway and puts it in the park. As soon as he does, he turns to give you his full attention.
"We are home, and you're safe. You are also so loved. I love you and the little girl you used to be too. I know I can't fix this hurt for you, but I want to see you happy, and I want to help in any way I can. Okay?" Bradley's big eyes sparkle with emotion, and you are briefly concerned that he might cry too.
"Well, we can talk about this more whenever ready, and we can work through it however you need."
"You don't have to take care of me, Bradley."
"I want to," He says earnestly. "I maybe even need to sometimes. So, if you'll let me when you need that or want that, I'd love to take care of you. I think you don't let me do enough."
You take a deep, slow breath to steady yourself. Bradley's face is serious but open. His lips pull taught under his mustache, with his warm eyes still a little misty. Leaning forward, you connect your lips with his. It doesn't even take a moment for Bradley's lips to move with yours softly. The gentle comfort of his lips makes you feel a little warm and gooey. The tears dripping off your face. The storm cloud hovering over you doesn't disappear, but the rain lets up a little, and you feel like you can breathe right again. Pulling away from Bradley, you give him a weak smile before requesting, "Please make me laugh."
"Yes, Ma'am. I think that's something I can do." He says after leaning over the console to peck your lips one more time. "What do you call a fish wearing a bow tie?"
"What?"
"Sofishticated."
The terrible joke does get a small snort out of you, and you roll your eyes at him. "You could have done better than that."
"I will have you know I have been working on that joke for weeks and was saving it for our aquarium date."
That gets another chuckle out of you, and a wide triumphant grin spreads across Bradley's face. However, it fades a bit as he cups your face and swipes away the remaining tears off your cheek. "Can I actually say something more?"
"Yes, of course," you answer.
"I'm sorry I don't have parents to give you and make you feel jealous, baby." He didn't say it in a condescending way. He was genuine in his want. You knew that if Nick and Carole were still alive, he would wish you were getting the mountains of love they would have showered on you.
"I'm not trying to make anything about your parents about me," you tell him quickly.
"You aren't," he reassures you. "They would have loved you, though."
"Thank you, Bradley. Now can we drink milkshakes and watch our show?"
"Absolutely, baby," He says as he reluctantly lets go of your hand. Immediately grabbing it again when you two are out of the car and walking inside.
"But I do have Mav, and you are more than welcome to him."
"Maverick!?" You giggle at the very idea of Bradley's charming uncle and pseudo-father spending time with you.
"I promise, he is just waiting to get rid of me. And he already likes you more."
"One, Mav loves you. And two, no one could want to get rid of you, Bradley."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Yes, I'm very sure because I want to keep you forever."
"Yours forever? I like the sound of that."
"Me too," you tell him squeezing his hand before letting go to unlock the door. Bradley's free arm wraps around your waist, and he starts peppering your neck with tickling kisses, not caring how much harder it makes for you to get the door open.